


Miss Believer

by rainbowturtle2



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Character Death, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Happy, Self-Indulgent, nothing graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 06:47:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6318865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowturtle2/pseuds/rainbowturtle2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by Ms Believer by twenty one pilots. </p>
<p>Life after they left Kirkwall. Hawke survived the fade. They're okay. They're happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miss Believer

**Author's Note:**

> I just want my babies to be happy. They deserve to be happy, okay? Because most what I otherwise write is... not happy. This is not beta'd.  
> Listen to [Ms Believer - Twenty one pilots. ](https://youtu.be/YQWs0AYFq4k) for extra effect. :3c

They had travelled together for years. Hand in hand as they ran from whatever chasing them. Templars, giant spiders, the occasional ogre.

 

 

Every winter that passed, Marian handed him something new. A pair of mufflers, mittens she had made, a jacket she _really didn’t take off a clothes line I swear_. Each year that passed, he let her off with a chuckle, and brushed the hair from her face behind her ear and placed a kiss on her cheek. Hair that grew greyer and greyer for each year that passed.

 

There was a stripe of silver, the year she handed him a scarf. One she had knitted after one too many lessons with him. They had settled together, in a hut outside Hasmal. Talks of returning to Ferelden tempted him more than he’d ever be willing to admit, but they had yet to see the Andersfels.

 

“Do you ever think we’ll outrun them?”

 

She had asked one year, rubbed her hands together over the fire in front of the tent. Brief thoughts of finding a hut for the winter blew past him, and he wanted nothing but to hold her. And then he did. She was warm against his cold arms, her form fitting perfectly against his, and he breathed in her scent.

 

“ _T_ _hem_?” He replied, didn’t try to hide the amusement in his voice. “Kirkwall? Templars? The Calling? The memories?”

 

Marian hadn’t replied, only held onto his hands over her stomach, and watched the fresh snow melting on her hands. She shook, trembled in his hands. Anders hoped it was from the cold, and could do nothing but hold her closer.

 

Together they waded through the snow, holding hands and standing closer to keep the warmth between them.

 

One winter, the winters only grew colder for each year that passed, he got a letter signed with no name. A cure to the nightmares he had experienced since getting the taint. A cure to hearing the darkspawn song in his head. It didn’t matter that they had to travel to see other Grey Wardens, and it didn’t matter that they scoffed at him as he was told of the cure. It didn’t matter that they gave it only after he had begged.

 

Hand in hand, together, they went. Travelled. He was cured, the song was gone from his head and she never had to worry about him leaving to die in the Deep Roads again. She never had to worry about waking him from the nightmares again.

 

And then they found it. Hand in hand, they stood, mouths agape. The snow up to their ankles, and Marian shook where she stood. The jacket of fur over Anders’ shoulders, kept the cold away. But the cold didn’t matter.

 

Because they had found it.

 

A small village in the middle of Ferelden, no-one had looked at them twice, and no-one paid any special attention to them. The snow melted from the rooftops, and noone did anything worse than the friendly chatter.

 

And Anders knew. And Marian knew. Together, they had found the village they would grow old in together. The trees sprouted green again, and birds started chirping, and they bought a farm together.

 

It wasn’t much. Not really.

 

A small patch of garden, where they could grow _just_ enough vegetables, and a small round house with a door they could lock. But Anders didn’t need it locked. Didn’t want it locked. Marian never complained, and only gave him a hint of a smile when he brought it up.

 

And for the first time in his life, he had a place to call his _own_. He was a free man, in a home with his love. Free. No chains binding him down, no templars chasing him, and no need to look over his shoulder. The night he realised, Marian held him close for hours until he managed to stop the tears.

 

Together, they walked to the main area of the city, and each year Anders felt himself walk so much slower than he had before. Together, hand in hand, they went to the merchant, and they didn’t need to look over their shoulders as they walked and talked and laughed.

 

Spring came, and Marian cried with tears she called joy as she told him she was with child.

 

His child.

 

Anders’ tears came first when he first held his twins in his hand. One smaller than the other, but both so very beautiful. He cried tears he called joy as he kissed her cheek and praised her. Thanked her for bringing the two most beautiful children into the world.

 

When Carver appeared, Anders’ heart stopped for a full minute, until he realised he was no longer chased down by the Grey Wardens. He was no longer needed by them, and the templars had no reason to chase him.

 

Carver stood with a grin, his leg tapping the snow under his boot impatiently. A backpack, and his grey warden armour left and forgotten somewhere far away.

 

“I’d like to see them.”

 

Anders couldn’t hold back his laugh, and lead him into their home. The twins were still small, neither talking much aside from the occasional word. He was named Karl, Marian had insited. She was named Bethany, Anders had insisted.

 

Two mischievous babes, greying Marian’s hair prematurely.

 

“You didn’t even come for our wedding.”

 

Marian had complained to her brother, but he had done but smile at her. A slight shrug, and a pointed thumb at Anders.

 

“My wedding present was delivering the message about the cure to him.”

 

Neither could tell him it was a bad gift. Because it had been the blessing that saved them from a life of wandering and fear.

 

Neither could tell him it was a bad gift. Because it had been the greatest present they could have received.

 

Marian couldn’t remember the last time she had embraced her brother, or if she ever had. But that day, she held him until Karl had demanded her attention by setting the curtains on fire. She never once pointed out how his eyes looked wet.

 

Carver had stayed until the twins celebrated their sixth birthday. Helping out, and telling the twins tall tales of their mother and father. Once, Varric had visited briefly. Left copies of his books, letters from their friends, and promises of returning.

 

The winter after the twins had celebrated their sixth birthday, Carver found a woman named Yvonne Marchand. And despite how he didn’t _have_ to, but because he _wanted_ to, he moved into a home on the other side of the village with Yvonne.

 

The twins celebrated their eighth birthday with Karl conjuring flashes of colours and sparkles from his palms and Marian and Anders hurriedly dousing the fire on their farmhouse. Bethany had decided to take after her uncle, and wielded a sword better than she read or walked or talked. The sword was and extension of her, and Marian wept tears of pride at the sight of her daughter.

 

Then Carver had his own children, a small boy he named Garret and a pair of twin girls  the following year. And much to Yvonne and Carver’s surprise, they all had magic. It was a hard few years for the curtains and bedsheets in their home.

 

Years passed, and Anders couldn’t stop himself from thinking Marian grew more and more beautiful with each that passed. Her hair greyed, stripes down her hair at first, soft wrinkles in her face as the winters passed. One year, Karl had told Marian her hair looked like salt and pepper.

 

Anders caught a look of himself in the lookinglass a few days after Karl’s comment, and found himself surprised by his age. Never once had he anticipated being able to see his own hair greying, and the beard he let grow, to watch that grow greyer by the year. Never once had he expected himself to grow old, but there he was. Greying and growing cold next to Marian. A grey warden, tainted by the darkspawn blood, never were supposed to live for longer than 30 years.

 

Their twins grew up, became teenagers and adults before his very eyes. Bethany the spitting image of himself, the same nose and she put her hair up like he had until he pointed it out one WIntersend. She frowned at him, and let her dark hair grow long. Karl was more like Marian, her smile was given to him, yet he had Anders’ pale hair.

 

Karl was timid where Bethany was forward. Karl shied away, hid in their home and read the same books for days, while Bethany was outside chasing birds and nugs until Marian told her off. Karl wanted to sit by his father’s side, and learn the healing spells Anders’ had saved lives with.

 

And then Karl wanted to see the world. A streak of rebellion he didn’t know he had, and a need to see the entire Thedas. They had warned him of the dangers of the world, and how despite everything, the world was still not safe for mages. Warnings were brushed off, and he left the following spring, with as much coin as they could give him and promises of keeping in touch.

 

Bethany had surprised them. She wanted to stay, to look after her younger cousins and make sure noone looked at them differently for having magic. Her streak of protectiveness, and how she wanted to make sure her family was safe, reminded Anders of his love.

 

Together, they lived. The fireplace crackling, and Marian felt warm against him. The snow outside kept falling, and he read the letter from Karl once more. Safe and happy, outside of Wycome where he served a noble to earn coin. The scarf Marian had once given Anders, was worn and grown darker with the years. Anders wore it all the same, wore it proudly because Marian had made it for him.

 

Their first grandchild, Bethany had named Malcolm. Anders had run after him, picking him down from trees and taught him to grow elfroot, until he had fallen over walking with Marian. The healer in the town said his heart gave out, that his age had caught up to him.

 

But Marian couldn’t let the grief overwhelm her, because she knew he had been happy. He had been happy until his last moment, he had been happy. Marian couldn’t let her grief overwhelm her, because it hadn’t been overwhelming. She had made sure his last years were good, and his smile had been enough to tell her she had been successful.

 

“I love you.”

 

His last words to her had been said with the smile he only ever had for her. The smile that reminded her that he meant it, the smile that left no room for disagreement.

 

Marian, with her salt and pepper hair and wrinkles on her forehead and around her smile, had died in her sleep. Years and years after Anders, long after Malcolm had stopped running after the nugs, and picked up the books Karl had left behind.

 

Bethany had made sure they were buried next to each other, and the flowers on their graves were kept fresh, and new ones planted when they died.

  
In the end, both had been happy. Their farm had been safe, and they had been happy and safe together. The winters had come and went, and they had been _together_.

**Author's Note:**

> Literally all I want is for my kids to be okay, and continue to be okay until the end.


End file.
